


happy returns

by liesmyth



Series: Captive Prince Works [10]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Pastries, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: The Prince looked Nicaise up and down from behind golden lashes, brows arching. “Does my uncle know that today is your birthday?”
Relationships: Laurent & Nicaise (Captive Prince)
Series: Captive Prince Works [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547890
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117





	happy returns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [high_spring_tide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_spring_tide/gifts).



When Nicaise woke up, he wasn’t feeling any older.

His complexion was flawless, cheeks rosy and eyes bright, his lips a perfect rosebud pout when he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He combed his hair and applied bright powders to his eyelids, over his cheekbones, down the curve of his throat. He dressed in his usual silks, the same attire he wore every day. There was nothing special about this morning, no need to draw attention to himself. The last thing he needed was for his master to learn what day this was.

The sun was high in the sky already, but the palace was quiet. Mornings in the Veretian court were a lazy affair, with many of the courtiers not bothering putting in an appearance until the mid-afternoon, and Nicaise always enjoyed the sight of the empty gardens in bloom, the endless corridors stretching out in front of him. It felt like freedom.

Light-footed and quick, he snuck out of the Regent’s quarters and down to the kitchens, where he commanded a grease-stained, haggard boy to fetch him breakfast. He waited imperiously, sniffing slightly when the kitchen boy returned and almost brushed Nicaise’s sleeve with his oiled fingers. Then he turned on his fashionable heels and strode to the Queen’s garden, ready to claim his usual spot by the ornamental pond.

It was taken.

Nicaise’s lips pursed in annoyance. It was Prince Laurent, golden-haired and insufferable, straddling Nicaise’s bench and biting into an apple like some kind of commoner. Nicaise clutched his breakfast basket and marched forth.

“What are you doing here?”

The Prince looked down at him. Nicaise stared back.

“I sit here every morning.”

The Prince did not reply. Nicaise tried again.

“I come here every morning,” he said, again. “Go somewhere else.”

The Prince bit into his apple. He looked Nicaise up and down from behind golden lashes, brows arching. “Does my uncle know that today is your birthday?”

Nicaise flinched. He brought up his arm to his chest instinctively, holding his dainty basket like a battlefield shield. “That’s none of your business.”

“He probably does, you know. You think you can keep secrets from him, but you can’t. But don’t worry,” he added, not unkindly. “I’m sure he forgot. He doesn’t pay attention to things like that.”

Nicaise drew up to his scarce height, chin up. “What do you want?”

The Prince took another bite out of his apple, then turned it around in his hand. He bit into it one last time, then he brought up his hand and threw the apple core into the pond, hard enough to make a loud _splash_.

“I wished to sit in the gardens,” he said. “You may attend me if you like.”

Nicaise was no common stableboy. He was ranked higher than any other pet at court, the Regent’s own favourite; he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. He certainly didn’t have to stay here waiting on Prince Laurent, who hadn’t even bothered asking politely. He still hadn’t had his breakfast.

He sat down without being told, right next to the Prince, taking care to avoid touching him. Nicaise opened his basket and glanced inside, picking up a pastry between lacquered fingertips.

“Almonds and honey.” Nicaise raised his head to find Prince Laurent staring from above his shoulder. “You like those?”

Nicaise ignored him. He didn’t love the almond pastries, too sticky and dry for his tastes, but in the eight months he’d been at court he’d learned to pretend to enjoy them. He took a small, sophisticated bite, swallowing under the Prince’s blue gaze.

“Well, _I_ never liked those,” the Prince said. “I loved cakes when I was your age. And éclairs.” And then he said, “Would you like some?”

A silent servant wearing the Prince’s blue appeared gracefully from behind the bushes, carrying a small silver trail. Nicaise looked at it, mouth watering. Creamy pastries with berries on top, large stuffed éclairs covered in glaze, pink and lemon-yellow and, surprisingly, brown.

“Those are made with chocolate. From Vask,” the Prince said, following Nicaise’s gaze. “You can have them.”

Nicaise hesitated.

“Unless you want me to eat all of them.” Lightning-quick, the Prince grabbed one of the lemon éclairs and stuffed it into his mouth with all the grace of a starving street urchin. He looked disgraceful.

Not to be outdone, Nicaise took one as well. The dough was crispy and delicious, the sweet glaze snapped so satisfyingly under his teeth, and the cream filling inside was rich and just the slightest bit tarty. He closed his eyes and threw back his head without even realising it, savouring every bite.

“Madame Jeanette makes them. Down in Silver Street, in the west district,” the Prince said conspiratorially. “She’s better than the cooks at court, right? Take another one.”

Nicaise was going to. But then his hand stopped mid-air, sticky fingers just inches away from the mysterious brown pastries. _Chocolate_ , from Vask. Nicaise had never tasted it, but he knew it was a delicacy.

“What do you get out of this?”

“You’ll owe me,” he said, easily. “I expect a birthday gift from you next month. You’ll better start thinking of something suitable for a Prince.”

Nicaise scoffed. “You have the table manners of a pig.” Then he picked up the chocolate éclair and bit into it with gusto, eyes widening at the taste.

“I loved those when I was your age,” the Prince said, casually. “My brother used to get them for me.” Then, before Nicaise could say anything, he picked one of the berry pastries and stuffed it into his mouth just as messily as he’d done with the first.

“If it’s my birthday gift, why are you eating all of them?”

The Prince gave him a cool look, undercut by the smallest smile tugging at his mouth. “You better hurry then.”

Nicaise ended up eating seven whole pastries, the largest breakfast he’d ever had in his life. He felt pleasantly full once all the pastries and crumbs had been swept away, and in good spirits, and when the Prince suggested Nicaise accompany him to his apartments he couldn’t find it within himself to disagree. He dabbed at the corners of his lips with his silk handkerchief and followed half a step behind the Prince, ignoring those brutish men of the Guard he was always surrounded by.

Once at the door, though, the Prince gestured for him to go in. Nicaise frowned.

“I’m not going to spy for you, you know. No matter how nice you ask.”

The Prince looked down at him, doing that thing with his eyebrows that had all courtiers in Arles sweating nervously, and gave Nicaise a sharp smile. “I don’t need children to do my bidding.”

“That’s because you’re stupid,” Nicaise said easily, stepping in. “Do you have another gift for me?”

The Prince made a weird face. “Not quite. This comes with a price.”

That was hardly surprising, at court, and Nicaise braced himself for some unusual request. He pursed his lips and watched the Prince’s eyes shift to the side like he was nervous

“What is it—”

“Here,” the Prince said, striding into the room and stopping in front of a small tall table. “Here, look.”

It was a book. Nicaise opened his mouth, ready to say something disparaging— books were dull, and a frivolous waste of coin, whimsical and stupid and exorbitantly priced. Then he glanced down at it.

The book was open on a large full-page illustration, painted intricately in golds and bright greens and dark reds. Nicaise had spent years learning how to apply perfect maquillage on his face with the finest small brushes; he knew what excellent handiwork looked like. His fingers twitched at his sides, wanting to touch.

“It’s a book of tales. My mother gifted me this when I turned thirteen,” said the Prince. “She died two months later.”

“My ma’ died when I was five,” Nicaise said, chin jutting out. “She didn’t leave me any books, or anything at all, so the landlord kicked me out first chance he got.”

“Would you like this one? You can have it. I know you can’t take it with you, but it’d be yours, you could leave it here. As long as you keep up with your reading.”

He said it, knowingly, insufferably. and Nicaise felt his cheeks heating up.

“Reading is stupid.”

“I’ll teach you,” the Prince said. “If you can suffer my company, that’s it.”

Nicaise thought that the Prince must make a horrible teacher. He was impatient, harsh and demanding, but something about him drew Nicaise in.

It was good to have powerful friends, even a boy-prince kept away from the throne. Nicaise had no intention to let Prince Laurent turn him into his own spy, but he wasn’t about to turn down this opportunity either. It wasn’t as if he _needed_ the Prince— Nicaise was young and beautiful, and his master would keep him around for many years still— but sometimes it paid to have friends in high places.

“If you insist,” he drawled, watching the Prince’s mouth twitch at the corners. “But I want more of those pastries, too. My company doesn’t come cheap.”

“Of course,” the Prince said, and he held his hand out for Nicaise to shake. Nicaise looked at it disdainfully, then took it with exaggerated care.

“Deal,” he said, basking in the bright warmth of the Prince’s smile.


End file.
